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Ryuuichi hadn’t planned to end his 18th birthday half-sitting on a curb outside a convenience store while Yagi serenaded the group with what sounded like a tone-deaf rendition of a love ballad… in falsetto. The night had started sweet and simple—just the five of them sharing cheap drinks and snacks under the soft yellow glow of the park lights at their usual spot, a grassy slope near the swings where they'd grown up loitering after school. It was nostalgic, comforting, and perfectly them. But somewhere between Yuki insisting they find “a real party” and Inomata getting distracted by a stray cat, they’d somehow ended up wandering through half the city, laughing too loud, taking blurry selfies, and challenging strangers to dance battles. Now, hours later, they were crouched outside a convenience store that looked suspiciously familiar—like it had been copy-pasted from a childhood memory. The flickering sign buzzed overhead, the pavement was sticky with spilled soda, and yet no one could quite place where they were. Yuki swore they’d been there before, but Nezu said that was just déjà vu. Ryuuichi wasn’t sure. He was too busy wondering if Yagi's off-key serenade was meant to be romantic or a war crime.
But here he was.
“Ryuuichi, Ryuuichi, listen—he’s singing from the soul,” Yuki slurred, eyes wide and misty. She was swaying against Inomata, who was trying (and failing) to hold her steady while suppressing her own drunken giggles.
Where did they get their hands on so much alcohol?
“Tomoya, you absolute idiot,” Nezu muttered, flustered as he tried to pull Yagi back from his impromptu sidewalk stage. “Stop embarrassing yourself.”
“It’s for art, Chuukichi!” Yagi declared dramatically. “For Ryuuichi!”
“For Ryucchi~!” Yuki echoed, raising a half-finished glowstick like a lighter at a concert.
Kamitani stood behind them, arms crossed, a fond but visibly pained expression on his face. He hadn’t touched a single drop of alcohol—he didn’t like the taste, didn’t like the way it made people sloppy, didn’t trust the idea of anyone having to carry him home. Especially not Ryuuichi.
Ryuuichi, who looked up at him now with flushed cheeks, bleary eyes, and the dopiest grin Kamitani had ever seen on him.
“Why aren’t you singing?” Ryuuichi asked, poking Kamitani’s chest with one uncoordinated finger.
Kamitani raised an eyebrow. “Because I can’t sing.”
“That’s not stopping Yagi-Kun,” Ryuuichi said, nearly keeling over with a snort when Yagi's voice cracked on a high note so horrifically that a passing cat yowled in protest.
“He’s not trying to sing,” Nezu said darkly. “He’s performing an exorcism.”
Where were they?
Kamitani stood back, observing it all with the practised patience of someone who’d accepted long ago that he was the group’s designated babysitter. His mental notes on everyone’s drunk personalities were disturbingly consistent: Ryuuichi turned into a younger, more chaotic version of himself—loud, goofy, and weirdly obsessed with finding street cats now, probably just influenced; Yagi became oddly emotional and deeply romantic, now mumbling his way through another butchered love song for Nezu with glassy eyes and a trembling hand over his heart; Nezu, meanwhile, was just himself, but a little darker and looser-lipped, like someone had taken the lid off a bottle labeled unfiltered thoughts . Yuki was basically a five-year-old with too much sugar in her bloodstream—twirling, shouting, climbing benches—and Inomata was all giggles and flushed cheeks, clinging to Yuki like she couldn’t breathe without touching her.
“You’re so pretty when you laugh,” Yuki whispered against her shoulder, and Inomata practically dissolved into her hoodie, her laughter spilling out into the street as if she couldn’t believe her luck.
Kamitani sighed again.
Idiots, all of them.
But his idiots.
Eventually, between Yagi's falsetto breaking again and Yuki attempting to harmonize with a nearby vending machine, Inomata clapped her hands and declared, “Okay! Before someone calls the cops or a dog bites Yagi, it’s time for the real birthday part .”
They all stumbled a little closer, giggling and bumping into each other as Yuki pulled a slightly crumpled gift bag from her tote. It was taped shut haphazardly, glitter stuck in the folds of the tissue paper. “Ta-da!” she said, grinning. “From all of us. We pooled money. Even Kamitani gave more than a thousand yen, so you know it’s serious.”
Kamitani scoffed, but didn’t deny it.
Inside the bag was a soft grey and sage green hoodie, oversized and thick—the kind Ryuuichi always borrowed from Kamitani when it got cold—and a small envelope tucked into the front pocket. Ryuuichi opened it to find a photo they’d taken last summer, all five of them at the beach, squinting into the sun, soaked and sandy, arms around each other. On the back, in messy handwriting from all of them, were short, chaotic notes (that Ryuuchi guessed were written when they were all more sober, but at this point even he couldn't tell):
“Don’t fucking lose this like the last one or I’ll buy you a neon pink hoodie next.” – Kamitani.
“Stay warm, stay cute. Happy birthday, Ryu-Chan!!” – Yuki ♡
“Let’s make it to 19 together. Also, never let Yagi DJ again.” – Inomata ⯌
“Thanks for being my friend even though you’ve seen me cry over that frog documentary.” – YAGI ^V^
“You’re not bad. Thank you for everything you've done, especially with my little siblings. Just don’t expect me to say this again . Happy birthday.” – Nezu :)
Ryuuichi stared down at it, oddly overwhelmed.
How did they even guess his favourite colours?
Yuki threw her arms around him first. “Haaaappy birthday, Ryucchiiii!”
Inomata joined in, wrapping them both up in a clumsy sandwich hug.
Yagi saluted him like a soldier, eyes misty. “You’re the glue that keeps us together, man.”
Nezu gave him a half-hug and a full smirk. “You’re more tolerable than everyone else in our year. And I only say that to people I like and respect. So Tomoya has never heard this.”
"HEY!"
Even Kamitani, standing off to the side, gave a small nod. “Happy birthday, idiot.”
Ryuuichi grinned, clutching the hoodie to his chest like it was made of gold. “Thanks, guys. Really.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Kamitani said, sighing. “Ryucchi, let’s get you home before someone tries to beatbox the Star-Spangled Banner.”
Ryuuichi leaned into Kamitani’s side easily, wrapping his arm around Kamitani’s shoulders with no hesitation. “You’re always so responsible.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Kamitani grumbled, supporting his weight.
“I like it,” Ryuuichi mumbled, voice softer now.
They walked a few blocks like that, leaving behind the others as they continued attempting to start a street concert with progressively less rhythm. Ryuuichi was mostly quiet, the buzz of the night mellowing into a warm haze. The city was cool, the streets wet from earlier rain, and their shoes made soft splashes with each step.
When they got to the Chairwoman's house, Kamitani hesitated at the gate. “You good from here?”
Ryuuichi didn’t let go.
“Ryucchi?”
“I had a good time,” Ryuuichi said, voice clear now, steadier. “Thanks for staying sober. And for taking care of me. Like always.”
Kamitani’s ears turned a shade pinker. “It’s nothing. I mean—it’s not nothing but—it’s just. You know. You’re… you.”
Ryuuichi’s lips quirked. “You’re terrible at talking.”
“You’re drunk ,” Kamitani muttered.
“Maybe,” Ryuuichi said, and then—without warning—leaned up and kissed Kamitani.
It wasn’t messy. It wasn’t clumsy. It was soft—careful, even—as if Ryuuichi was afraid that if he pressed too hard, the moment might shatter. His lips were warm and a little unsure against Kamitani’s, but there was no hesitation in the way he leaned in, like this was something he’d imagined a hundred times and only just found the courage to make real. The kiss didn’t ask for anything; it simply offered . A quiet confession wrapped in a single breath. Kamitani’s eyes fluttered shut before he could think, his pulse jumping at the tenderness of it, the way Ryuuichi’s fingers brushed lightly against his sleeve, grounding them both. And when it ended—far too soon—Ryuuichi pulled back with a nervous little smile, like he half-expected to be pushed away.
But Kamitani didn’t move.
Couldn’t , really .
Then he cleared his throat and said, very quietly, “You’re definitely drunk.”
“I’ll be sober in the morning,” Ryuuichi said. “And I’ll still want to kiss you.”
Kamitani swallowed hard.
“…Okay.”
And that was all he said before Ryuuichi let go and stepped inside to the comfort of his brother's slight snores filling the corridor, leaving Kamitani outside, still stunned, still pink-eared, but with the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
Across the street, Yagi attempted to hit another note. A dog howled.
Kamitani shook his head.
“Idiots,” he muttered.
But it didn’t stop him from humming, off-key, the whole walk home.